


Blackbird

by coquettish_murder_muffin



Series: Blackbird [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Baby Wendigo, Blood and Violence, Bottom Hannibal, Bottom Will, Cannibalism, Disturbing Themes, Hannibal Loves Will, He did the monster smash, Kid Will Graham, M/M, Monster Hunters, Monster sex, Psychic Bond, Supernatural Elements, Time Skips, Top Hannibal, Top Will, Wendigo Hannibal, Will Graham Finds Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 13:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11693049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coquettish_murder_muffin/pseuds/coquettish_murder_muffin
Summary: “But it’s just a boy,” Will whispered, trembling. He was chilled to the bone. “Why can’t we help him?”“Some curses cannot be broken.”“He licked me,” Will said helplessly.“It was tasting your skin!Itisn’t human anymore.It will eat you alive.”Alternatively titled: 'If You Give A Wendigo A Cookie, Or More Accurately Your Parents'





	Blackbird

Will Graham was six years old when he first encountered the wendigo.

The thick smell of blood clogged his nose and he woke up gagging on it. He climbed out of bed and followed the scent into the master bedroom. He clung to the walls and blinked frantically to clear his vision, afraid to call out. His bare feet dragged across the floor as he crept to the open doorway, sniffing quietly and opening his mouth to ask for his mother and father. He choked on the air and his heart galloped inside his chest as he listened to the wet sounds of an animal eating, a wild thing greedily slurping up the streams of blood that littered the sheets. The crunch of bone and tendon filled his ears until the sound of his erratic heartbeat dissipated, drowned out by the horrible noise. Over the heap of bodies on the enormous bed, crouching on the bloodstained sheets, the monster shook its head like a dog and tore away another strip of meat and chewed quickly, nearly scarfing down the flesh whole.

It was only slightly bigger than Will in size, gaunt everywhere else aside from its belly swollen from feeding, the limbs gangling and awkward, skeletal from starvation. Its skin was black as night and pulled tight over its frame. Its nostrils flared and it paused licking its lips, scenting the room before it lifted its skull and orbs of maroon burned into the child’s wide, icy gaze. Blood had been smeared all over its face. The little monster’s lip curled and it bared its reddened fangs. It emitted a strangled, weak noise that was meant to be a warning, but it sounded more like a chirp. Will edged around the corner and further into the room, chest heaving with panic. His eyes were clouded with unshed tears as he took slow, calculated steps to the wardrobe where he knew one of his father’s weapons would be.

The creature crawled over the lifeless form of his mother, whose insides had been scooped out and her stomach hollowed, ribs exposed. Her skin was pulled back, giving her middle the appearance of an empty bowl. The monster perched on the end of the bed. It watched Will closely, hackles up and legs bunched underneath its body, ready to lunge, but its eyes were inquisitive and it had since stopped making noises. Will pulled out the drawer and his searching fingers found the pistol and clenched hard around it, whipping it out to aim and fire just as his father taught him, but the monster darted off the bed and launched itself through the open window. Will chased after it and fought with the fluttering curtains, but when he stuck his head outside in the hot summer night air, he saw nothing except the glowing fireflies in the field.

The creature was missing, like a nightmare finally at its end, but when he turned around his parents were still there. Half-eaten and dead. He collapsed in a mixture of relief and grief and sobbed uncontrollably and screamed until he was hoarse.

The scene was discovered a few days later by a well-meaning passerby, lured in by the disgusting smell and the strange silence on the property. He was hugging his mother’s stinking corpse and covered in old blood, pried away only by the promise of food.

When his Uncle Jack came to fetch him, Will saw a black baby deer staring at him from the open field, hiding poorly in the tall grass, its rounded and innocent eyes flashing the color of fresh blood.

“It has his scent,” Jack whispered to Aunt Bella that night at the dinner table, while Will stuffed his face and made a mess. The candles flickered explosively and Will lifted his eyes to stare, enthralled with the fiery dance. “It will track him for the rest of his life until it feels like hunting him.”

“It’s still very young, like Will,” Bella said. “It was incredibly lucky to catch them asleep in their beds. And if Will’s anything like his father, he will kill it long before it attempts to kill him.”

“Not unless I kill it first. I’ll skin it alive and mount its head on the wall.”

“It will haunt him regardless and you know it, Jack. Continue the boy’s training, fill his father’s shoes. We’ve been blessed with a child after all.”

“ _Phyllis._ ”

“We must make the best of what life gives us,” she said. “Mustn’t we, Will?”

A full year passed before Will saw the creature again.

He was playing outside with the guardian dog. More accurately, he was throwing sticks in its general direction and the hulking, lazy beast hardly batted an eye. Will decided to venture out without his furry babysitter, crossing the field behind the house knowing full well that it was against the rules Uncle Jack had made up over the months. Will had done it several times and he hadn’t been caught yet—he made sure to always be within shouting distance so he could come hurrying back, and he _did_ carry his own dagger for protection at all times. Uncle Jack insisted on it.

The memory of that night with his parents haunted him even as he struggled to make sense of it, but fear of the monster didn’t keep him from his adventures. His curiosity was matched only by his stubbornness. The possibility of a well-earned beating and extra chores didn’t weigh so heavily on his mind as the desperate need to get out of the house, to walk away and hunt with his bare hands. He couldn’t bring back his catches, lest his detours into the forest be discovered, but each time he returned he found only the bones. He guessed he was helping the local wildlife by providing easy meals, or that was just how he justified the desire to kill. If anyone found out, he would say it was practice. And it was, but it also sated something in him he didn’t yet understand, something burned into his blood and passed down through generations of hunters of a different kind.

He sprinted down the path, the ground worn from his regular visiting. After just a couple of minutes his feet knocked into something limp and warm and he tripped over it, huffing as his face hit the dirt. He spat it out and looked over his shoulder. It was a dead rabbit. There was no blood, its neck was cleanly broken. Will pushed himself to his knees and picked it up. It was still warm. He hummed thoughtfully to himself, and when he looked up he saw another lump of fur several yards away. Holding the first rabbit by the ears, he fetched the second one, and there was a third beyond that one.

The trail ended next to a stream, out of sight but bubbling somewhere close.

He dropped the rabbits when he saw glowing red eyes deep in the undergrowth. Dagger in hand, he crept closer and peeled away the branches, only to shout out and tip over on his back when a whir of black fur leapt out at him and soared over his head. He scrambled to his feet, poised to strike, but froze when the inquisitive black fawn stretched its long neck to sniff at his hands, unfazed. Its eyes were a solid black, and Will supposed he must have only imagined it as the thing that plagued his nightmares. His face broke into a wide grin and he straightened his fingers, brushing against the fawn’s wet nose. A pink tongue flicked out and Will gasped softly in surprise, but not in displeasure.

“Where is your mama?” Will asked it, crouching down to be on the fawn’s level.

The fawn wiggled its large ears.

“I guess you don’t have a mother,” Will said. “Me neither.”

His eyes strayed to the forgotten pile of dead rabbits.

“Did you do this?”

The fawn’s fluffy tail flicked in response.

“That’s silly of you. And very weird.”

Will tilted forward and hovered his palm over the baby animal’s flank, and when the pelt only twitched excitedly he petted it. It was so soft, almost feathery.

“Are they gifts for me?” he asked conversationally, knowing the fawn wouldn’t answer, but he felt the desire to speak to it anyway.

He caught himself cooing, smiling as the little creature shifted on unsteady legs and stepped closer. It licked him again, sweetly. Will’s delighted giggle was cut off by the loud lightning crack of a gunshot, dirt spraying all around his feet as the fawn fled into the woods, unharmed but spooked. Having fallen back on his butt, and he stared after the shivering leaves open-mouthed. He whipped his head around for the source of the sound, and shrank into himself when he saw Uncle Jack racing in his direction. He looked terrified and furious.

“ _Will!_ ”

The boy was yanked up by the sleeve of his coat, and big, scarred hands settled on his shoulders and shook him. “What in the hell were you thinking?!”

“I, I,” Will stuttered dumbly.

“Why did you let it touch you? _Are you hurt?_ ”

“No!” Will said, struggling in Uncle Jack’s grasp, but the man wouldn’t let go of him. His kicking feet no longer touched the ground. “You coulda killed it! You almost killed my friend!” he accused, screaming.

“Your _friend?_ ” Uncle Jack shouted back, his face twisting in raw anger. Realization struck him and his eyes widened, and he shook the boy harshly. “What did you see? Tell me what you saw!”

“You tried to kill my fawn!”

“Fawn—” Uncle Jack bit back his rage, setting the boy down. He lowered his tone. “What you saw wasn’t real, Will. There was no fawn, only a monster.”

“What?” Will blinked, lips quivering. “But there was, I felt him!”

“It was a wendigo,” Uncle Jack snapped. “Not a fawn,” he repeated, and shook him once more for good measure. “It tricked you, boy. You must never let it get so close, _never._ You shoot it, you stab it, or you set the bastard on fire. You do whatever you have to do, you hear me? You can’t trust your eyes. It’s an evil spirit and it lives off human flesh. It killed your parents and it wants nothing more than to finish the job because it knows you’re a threat as long as you’re alive. Do you understand?”

“But it’s just a boy,” Will whispered, trembling. He was chilled to the bone. “Why can’t we help him?”

“Some curses cannot be broken.”

“He licked me,” Will said helplessly.

“It was tasting your skin! _It_ isn’t human anymore. _It will eat you alive._ ”

For years his dreams were plagued with shadowy deer with twisted proportions, with nightmarish maroon eyes and horizontal pupils. Skeletal hands and claws reached out for him in the dark, ghostly whispers in his ear and a hot, blood-scented mouth pressed to his throat in a deadly kiss. And antlers, vines of them growing all around his limbs and caging him, the points digging into his flesh and piercing vital organs. His fawn grew in size, too, in these nightmares, horns sprouting from its head and branching out to reveal the deer as a proud stag, the feathered ruff around its neck puffed out and as pretty as its obsidian eyes that reflected red and mirrored Will in them. When Will looked, he was the wendigo.

When he was eighteen he worked a dangerous job his uncle couldn’t take, not with his Aunt Bella being so ill. Trapped in an unfamiliar town, surrounded by a small group of shapeshifters he’d successfully tracked straight into a trap of their own making, he took his first real beating. When he came to, the monsters were bled dry, holes in their chests, and his face was smarting with bruises and maybe a broken nose. He was lying in a puddle of blood that didn’t belong to him. His eyes adjusted quickly in the dark of the night and he saw a stag, its impressive rack of antlers dipped and dripping with something red, almost black under the moon. He blinked and it was gone. Will screamed and smashed his fists into the ground until the pain was too much. It was the first time he’d actually seen the wendigo, awake, since their early days as children. It had saved him—not wanting to share the delicious human meal it considered theirs for whenever it wanted to collect.

Will didn’t fall for its old tricks. He was older now, following in his father’s brief footsteps on this wretched earth. Hatred for the creature kept him alive and light on his toes. He kept an eye out for the beast that followed him everywhere, in addition to fearlessly working the jobs Uncle Jack ordered him to take. Will _felt_ when the thing was near him, his dreams always more vivid when it was close, and blurry when it wandered too far away. They shared a connection, mostly through visions during sleep, and Will fully intended to exploit it the moment he understood what was happening. But it went the other way around. When Will had trouble working a case, a present would appear; sometimes in the form of a dead fugitive, or a mental push that sent him following his instincts and miraculously stumbling upon the threat he was looking for. He had revelations, leaps in logic he couldn’t explain. The premonitions could just as easily happen on their own, but many times they started from another source, the shadowy figure in the corners of his mind. It made him one of the most notable hunters in the region, and earned him plenty of sway within the tight-knit community, even with the outsiders, the loners.

For a while he convinced himself it was the wendigo’s way of toying with him, or half-hearted attempts to murder him by proxy, but those theories just didn’t hold up. It _wanted_ him to get stronger, faster, and wiser. It was likely looking forward to a final battle between them, waiting for them to reach their prime. Will had no plans to disappoint it when the time came, but he couldn’t deny the good it was doing by helping him in the meantime. It probably wasn’t intentional. He didn’t breathe a word of the truth to anyone. He never once mentioned it to Jack or Bella, and definitely not to the few partners and love interests he had throughout the rocky years of his youth.

Beverly was a renowned huntress and as dear a friend as Will was capable of having, but he couldn’t bear to tell her either, for that same reason. “Do you ever think about settling down sometimes? Or am I just getting too fucking old for this job already?” Beverly asked him over drinks, after a particularly successful hunt. The local bar in town was regularly visited base for people like them, where they could share newfound information or recruit teams to take on bigger monsters if they so desired.  

“I don’t know,” Will told her honestly, pretending to be more inebriated than he really was, hoping to get away from the question. “Not really.”

He could hardly explain it was too dangerous for him to marry, let alone seek out a steady relationship—his wendigo was a jealous creature. Would it even tolerate a one night stand? He actually got drunk enough to test his luck that night, the thought too early planted in his head and making him yearn for human contact; something he rarely wanted, but needed from time to time. Especially when the only other thing he had for company was one of his own personal demons.

Before leaving the bar he stumbled into another hunter. Just passing through, a charming, dangerous thing just his age, and Will was intoxicated and Beverly’s words echoed annoyingly in his head until it finally pushed him to suggest to his new friend that they find someplace quieter. He was clumsy and inexperienced, and he said as much in fair warning. A stupid mistake, and they should have run far, but the other hunter simply smiled and kissed him, teaching him things he hadn’t had the chance to explore before. His heart fluttered and a dam inside him broke quite suddenly, opening up to the hunter that dragged his mouth over Will’s warm skin, biting lightly and sucking, drawing small beads of blood. Will didn’t need to be gentle, to contain the stress that always itched to escape. It was as if they were made for each other. It was like the encounter had been building up for _years_ , but that simply wasn’t possible. They had never met.

He blamed alcohol for the intensity of the instant emotional connection he felt, but he didn’t fight it. He sank into his lover and held him, encouraging the wanting sounds that escaped both of their more than desperate mouths. He relished the scratch of nails digging into his back, leaving red, bloody lines and the sharp teeth nipping almost lovingly at his lips and tongue. Time passed like in a dream, achingly slow, and he savored every second of it. When he finally collapsed against his new acquaintance he took a moment to recover, focusing on breathing and letting his eyes soak up the beautiful man beneath him. His gaze lingered on a series of interesting looking marks, carved into the skin of the man’s shoulder. He couldn’t place the symbols, but it wasn’t unheard of for hunters to use such things for protection against particularly evil spirits and monsters.

“What are those for?” Will huffed, for lack of anything else to say.

“An interesting story for another time,” the man purred, and Will flushed at the apparently very real possibility of a next time.

“I just realized I never asked for your name.”

“For _shame_ , Will Graham.”

“Of course you’d know mine,” Will said, rolling over and stretching out on the cheap hotel bed.

“You are very well-known around these parts.”

“And I’ve never seen you before. So tell me, who did I just…”

It felt wrong to say “screw.” It wasn’t a _fuck._ It was more, it had to be. It didn’t always feel like that, did it?

“You may call me Hannibal.”

“Well, _Hannibal._ How long will you be in town?”

“I think I might stay a while longer. I’ve found something rather interesting.” Hannibal pressed his mouth to Will’s throat, teeth grazing the skin as he inhaled Will’s scent. “Perhaps worth investigating.”

“How strange! So have I,” Will said, absolutely beaming.  

He found in the man a hunting partner, and his first real love.

They were unstoppable—Hannibal surpassed all of Will’s expectations, shocking him with his strength and his unbeatable reflexes, and intelligence. It was nothing like anything Will had ever witnessed. He couldn’t understand how he hadn’t heard this man’s name before, but ultimately he decided it was because Hannibal was foreign, what with his thick accent and unusually sharp features, and his hypnotizing dark eyes that gleamed gold in the sunlight. Will sometimes suspected Hannibal was holding back on his abilities, perhaps for Will’s sake, his reputation. They exorcised demons together, burned out vampire nests, tracked down the monsters that stole children from their beds in the night; no job was too dangerous, nor impossible, whether it took them days or months to complete. It wasn’t long before their names were often uttered in unison, together as they always were, with something akin to reverence. Whispered hesitantly and in fear, if it came from a monster’s mouth.

They grew quite close.

Will felt the wendigo was closer to him than ever, but it never attacked them. It never showed itself, it continued to help him through his dreams and sometimes awake, but less. He could detect no jealousy, but it could easily be a trick. The creature might be waiting for him to let his guard down. He watched Hannibal’s back constantly, even when the man insisted it was somewhat detrimental to their success and completely unnecessary. Will agreed with him inwardly but he outwardly refused, and eventually Hannibal stopped butting heads with him. He accepted it, and Will carried on living in fear for his lover’s life. He hadn’t been able to save his parents, and he would die before he let the same thing happen to Hannibal. The man was the most precious thing in his possession, above all the weapons and the family heirlooms, his drive for justice, _everything._ This, the wendigo would not take.

When word spread that a wendigo had been captured and killed just a few states over, Will didn’t know what to think. The long expected relief never came. With them being such rare and elusive creatures, there was a very real possibility that it was _the_ wendigo. Inexplicably nauseated, Will floated around the cabin they were using as a base camp, packing his bag and checking and re-checking the supplies he wanted to stash in the truck outside. For some reason he thought he needed it, despite knowing the creature was dead. Had _been_ dead, but the Hobbs family had caught it and was offering him the chance for ‘closure,’ in case the wendigo was…his wendigo. The circumstances surrounding the death of his parents was common knowledge and had always been, much to his dismay.

“I know what you’re going to ask me,” Will grumbled to the figure standing in the doorway, quietly watching him pull on several layers of clothes. “And the answer is no. I want to do this alone. I need to.”

There was an awkward silence, and then, “As long as you know the offer is on the table.”

“You know, I almost hope they’re wrong about it,” Will said without looking up. He kept his hands busy, lacing up his boots. “I wanted to be the one to catch it. Selfish, isn’t it? How long would it have taken for me to catch it, how many families would’ve died in the meantime? It’s given me so little to go on. No leads, as if it’s been starving itself to prevent me from finding it. Yet I _feel_ it every day. I feel it even now.”

“Perhaps this isn’t your wendigo.”

“I think you’re right, but I have to see it for myself. I could learn something useful from examining the body. I’ve never seen another wendigo before, or known anyone who has.”

“Will…”

He lifted his head, surprised by the look of dread that crossed Hannibal’s face. It faded almost immediately, replaced with a less telling worry. Will shrugged on his coat and approached him, his bag slung over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“There is something we need to talk about.”

Will didn’t like the sound of that. “Hey, no, let’s not do this right now. Save it for later.”

“But—”

“I’ll be back,” Will insisted, his anxiety spurring him cover Hannibal’s mouth with his own in a quick, silencing kiss. “If you’re planning on proposing, you’d better wait for a more appropriate time than this. You haven’t even met Jack and Bella yet, and it might send Beverly into an early grave if I get hitched before she does,” he joked, letting Hannibal drag him into another kiss before he reluctantly put a stop to it. “I’ll see you in a few days—don’t forget to feed my dogs. And promise you won’t go hunting without me, okay?”

“Oh? Why?”

“I won’t be in the mood to rescue your sorry ass. _Again_ ,” Will said, smirking at Hannibal’s fond smile, and finally pulled away. “Stay out of trouble.”

On the road his mood soured, fast. His wendigo was alive and he _knew_ it, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. He would have felt it if the damned thing died. He didn’t share a weird, creepy psychic bond with it for the past twenty-something years just to not know if the thing got itself killed. When he reached the Hobbs home, he was welcomed first by a skittish young girl that brought him Garret Jacob Hobbs. Will did his best to hold up his end of small talk, but his disinterest was probably clear, because he soon found himself being led to a barn some distance away from the house. He smelled the rot before the doors opened. He covered his mouth and nose as they approached the skeletal, long body strapped down to the chopping block with leather and rope. Needlessly—it had been dead for a while.

It was ashen, not black, and its antlers were worn and broken from use. Scars littered its body and it was missing fingers. That didn’t make it any less impressive. It would have been a worthy opponent in life, and this was the first time Will was seeing a wendigo fully grown, and up close. He caught himself imagining _his_ wendigo, younger and stronger than its dead counterpart, and how differently it might appear when it finally decided to show itself. In fact, Will was beginning to suspect that this one would have died of natural causes soon, if it weren’t for the burns all over one side of its body. Will felt himself shaking, and not knowing why, he decided to cut his inspection short. There was little to learn, aside from memorizing the pointed shark’s teeth (many broken or missing in this wendigo’s case), its curved claws, and hooved feet.

His blue eyes settled on a set of marks on the wendigo’s thigh, and his heart leapt into his throat.

He knew those symbols by heart—had traced them with his fingers naked in front of the fire, kissed them, had been told they were harmless.

“Tell me what this means,” he said, barely able to hear his own voice over the throbbing in his head. He pointed with a trembling finger.

“Those?” Garret asked, tilting his head to better see what Will was referring to. “Probably a spell, though I haven’t figured out what for, or why something as barbaric as a wendigo would think to carve himself up. It’s not any magic I’ve ever heard of. I’ve got people working on it. Will? Where you going?”

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

“It’s not him,” Will breathed, only half speaking to Garret, tripping over his own feet. “It can’t be him,” he mumbled, and his vision blacked out.

He rested in the family’s guest room and he let them think whatever they liked—it didn’t matter if they blamed the old wendigo for his parents’ deaths. He knew the truth, and he hoarded it for himself. He boiled alive in the knowledge of it, not just suspicion, _knowledge_ , and wept silently when the initial numbness wore off. His emotions left him an ill, shivering mess, and he spent two days in bed without eating a single morsel. When Mrs. Hobbs offered to send for his partner or for Jack, he panicked and shouted at her not to, nearly scaring her half to death. On the third day he apologized, managing his sincerity as best he could, and thanked them for their hospitality and hit the road.

A part of him was in denial, needing concrete evidence, so he devised a plan.

When he returned home Hannibal was waiting for him.

Despite his exhaustion, and the lingering temptation to ignore everything he’d learned and pretend it hadn’t happened, that he didn’t know, Will kissed him. He kissed him like it might be the last time.

He was meaner than he had to be, taking blood and leaving bruises everywhere he touched, but the need was real. The fire was already lit and they lost their clothes as they went, sinking to the floor. It was like every other reunion they had after a short separation. He bit Hannibal’s throat and sucked, eyes drifting to the reddened marks on his partner’s shoulder. It was a match. His teeth threatened to break the skin and he hated and loved the sounds his unnaturally cold lover made, writhing beneath him and giving him cool relief from the heat and mad fever currently engulfing him. How could he have been so blind? He could tear out his throat now, and Hannibal would let him. He fucked him instead, and he didn’t stop until he was sure they would fall asleep almost immediately, too tired, and they did, nestled together, and Will was not satisfied.

Upon waking he snapped his fingers next to Hannibal’s head. Nothing happened. He disentangled himself and reached for the fire iron next to the fireplace, holding the pointed end over the flames until it was searing hot.

He walked around to Hannibal’s right side and crouched, swallowing before he stretched out his arm with the weapon pointed at his lover.

A strong arm shot out and grabbed his neck, the other hand halting his wrist. Will exhaled sharply, prepared for a fight, but the hold on him was purposefully poor, for nothing other than giving him pause. Hannibal was not actively trying to stop him. His dark eyes were open and they seemed sad, and for the first time they gleamed the color of fresh blood, as if a veil had been lifted.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” Hannibal said softly.

“Tell me it’s not true.”

“What good would it do, Will? You know the truth, and here we are.”

Will’s dogs were growling and whining in a corner. His grip tightened around the fire iron.

“That’s some seriously old magic you’ve been using, just to make this…this _person suit_ you wear.”

“I was a person,” Hannibal countered, without malice. “The suit is mine.”

“But it isn’t really _you_ anymore, is it?”

“I’m still human.”

Will snorted at that, half choking on his own cruel laughter.

“No, you’re not,” he said. “Let me remind you.”

He shoved Hannibal’s arms away, pinning one down before he pressed the hot iron against the carved symbols, burning the skin and marring the design.

It sizzled and smoke blew in his face and Hannibal hissed his displeasure, sharp teeth glinting and seeming to expand. Will fell off him and dropped the iron, scrambling away until his back hit the wall and he sat in the floor, watching and waiting. He thought to retrieve his gun, but he felt pinned to the spot, eyes wide as he soaked up the image of Hannibal lying on his side in obvious pain as his flesh tore and expanded, darkening. Bones cracked and Will saw pieces of shed skin and liters of lost blood in the low light of the fire. Aside from the chilling noises of the transformation taking place, Hannibal was silent. Will squinted, needing to see the thing that had ruined his life, and see it face to face. It was curled in on itself, holding itself, waiting out the agony.

It was weak, an easy target. So why didn’t he reach for a weapon?

He blinked and the bony figure _shivered_ , changing in front of his eyes until it was no longer a monster. It was a large black deer, the size of an elk, lying with its legs folded neatly beneath its body, twisted antlers sitting proud on its head and its sleek feathered ruff and black eyes reflecting the fire.

 _Show me the monster you really are!_ Will wanted to shout, but when the stag looked at him he froze.

He only saw his fawn. Old memories tugged at the back of his mind, something sweet and innocent and rudely interrupted. A handful of secret visits in the forest, the fawn playfully butting its head against him, the hint of budding antlers poking in his side. And then the games had stopped, as experience and Uncle Jack’s training taught him just what the little fawn was capable of.

Will crawled closer and reached out to drag his fingers through downy hair and feathers on the beast’s elegant neck. “I remember you,” he said, hardly breathing lest the illusion shatter, not ready to face the reality behind this quickly-constructed mask. “You were my friend.”

“And you were mine.”

The voice was distorted and seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, but it belonged to Hannibal.

Hot tears ran down Will’s cheeks, but he felt almost sedated, petting the animal in repeated long strokes. “You _ate_ my parents, right in front of me.”

The stag nudged Will with its immense head, nosing at his face and gently blowing its breath.

“I didn’t know who or what I was, I only knew that I was hungry, so very hungry. I didn’t know that my hunger would be eternal, that nothing would sate it. I understood so little about the curse. I have spent every waking moment since hoping I might correct the pain I have caused you.”

“You can’t erase it, Hannibal. It’s a part of our history, of us. I’ve fantasized about killing you, about making you pay for what you did to me. I would have ended your miserable existence with any chance you allowed me. You were so careful about it until now. Where did it go? Would you fight me if I tried to kill you now?”

“You had no hatred for me until Uncle Jack planted ideas of revenge into your impressionable young head.”

“Because I was a kid! I didn’t understand the gravity of the situation, of what you did to me!”  

“I was also a child. I watched over you from a distance, until I could bear it no longer. I wanted to be close to you. I fell in love with you.”  

“Of course only a monster would love me,” Will said darkly, lifting his arms to grab the stag’s antlers. “Let me see you, the real you. I deserve to see it. You owe me that much.”

His black deer dissolved, wiped away, replaced with the wendigo. Will was still holding onto the antlers.

Its eyes were downcast, face expressionless and angular body slicked with its own blood. It was _Hannibal_ , he could see it plainly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Long arms and curved talons hung loose at the monster’s sides. If it stood it would stand well over six feet tall, excluding the antlers on its head. It wasn’t a particularly strong-looking creature with its skeletal, starved form, but it was utterly terrifying. And Will knew that appearances often lied.

“You lied to me.” He touched the bones that strained underneath the tight dark skin. They wouldn’t break easily. “I loved the man you showed me. Is he still in there?”

“I showed you as much as I could.”

Unsatisfied with that answer, Will tugged on the antlers a little harshly, knocking their skulls together. He stared into the wendigo’s dark eyes, heart pounding, and found that he wasn’t afraid. Will grit his teeth and swung his fist, knuckles connecting with an immovable jaw, probably hurting himself more than the monster. When it didn’t hit him back, he swung again, and again until he swore and held his injured hands close to his chest. He picked up the discarded fire poker and held the sharp point at the wendigo’s throat.

He threw it down and it landed with a hard clang against the bloodstained floor.

“I can’t promise you anything,” Will croaked, before tilting his head to press his lips against freezing cold ones, begging to be convinced. “I can’t promise I won’t try to kill you.”

“I can work with that, my darling Will.”

Their coupling was animalistic, fangs made for killing sinking into the flesh of his shoulder. He imagined a chunk being torn out of him and swallowed, eaten alive as he was being fucked, but it didn’t happen. The bleeding wound was cleaned with a startlingly warm and invasive tongue. Claws dragged down his sides, just skimming, and stopped at his hips, lifting him and holding him in place. Will braced himself by reaching above his head and holding onto a thick antler point with one hand, but nothing could have prepared him for the painful stretch and his belated shock regarding what was happening. It was too much, too snug inside him, and alarmingly familiar. He recognized the thrusts behind him, even if it was more cruel than loving this time, chasing greed. It hurt, hardly sex as much as it was outright claiming, the wendigo taking what it thought belonged to it.

Caged in the protective arms of his monster, nuzzling against the creature he hated for so long, he thought maybe he didn’t have to kill this one.

Someday, but not today.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a bit different for me, giving a story an open ending that wasn’t exactly happy—and no one is really the “bad guy” here. It’s a love story that was doomed from the start. But maybe these two can make it work…I'll have a lot to work with when I continue this as a multi-chapter fic (don't get too excited, I have three I need to finish first, so it'll be a while)!


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